


Toilet Humour

by derryderrydown



Category: Sex Pistols (Band)
Genre: M/M, very old story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-09
Updated: 2009-12-09
Packaged: 2017-10-04 07:26:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/derryderrydown/pseuds/derryderrydown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tristessa pointed out that nobody ever wrote sweet Sex Pistols. It was bloody difficult and I had to set it pre-Pistols but I think I managed it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Toilet Humour

The four of them exploded into the club in an orgy of ripped jeans, laughter and offensive t-shirts held together with safety pins.

If John, John, John and John - aka Rambo, Jah Wobble, Sid and Johnny - hadn't been who they were, they might have felt out of place. Instead, they hardly seemed to notice the shocked looks they were collecting as they stumbled towards the bar. Johnny paid for two pints with a river of copper and the odd flash of silver. Sid got a couple of packets of crisps and handed over a ten pound note, peeled from a wad of cash with smirking showmanship.

"Where'd you get that from?" Johnny demanded.

Sid shrugged. "Where d'you think?"

"Not busking. Your mum'll notice you nicking her speed one day."

"She just thinks she's lost it. Or that the rats have eaten it."

Johnny poured the remains of his money into a carrier bag. "You're paying tonight."

"For all of us," Rambo added.

Sid's face fell but he didn't bother arguing. Nobody argued with Rambo. He had, after all, been invited into the group to provide some badly-needed muscle.

After the initial interruption, the four Johns vanished into a corner, emerging only occasionally to stagger in the increasingly vague direction of the bar.

As Johnny returned from an expedition to the bar, Rambo smirked at him. "He wants you."

"Who?" Johnny followed the jerk of Rambo's head to a man sitting on his own, dressed in neatly-pressed flares and a perfectly white shirt. The man smiled hesitantly and John rolled his eyes as he turned his attention back to his own group. "What a wanker."

"We're in a queers club," Wobble pointed out. "What do you expect? Well, other than music that's worth listening to."

"Huh?" Johnny blinked. "I meant his clothes, not the other. Flares?" He added the change from the bar to his carrier bag, which had been steadily growing heavier all night. He thought Sid hadn't noticed but he wasn't too sure on that. Sid wouldn't object, even if he had spotted it. He was like that, Sid. He looked over, to find Sid smiling back at him. The expression was only there for a moment before Sid twisted it into a sneer. Johnny laughed. You couldn't take Sid seriously. "Stop gurning and start drinking, Sidney. We're going dancing."

Sid stuck his tongue out briefly but obediently turned his attention to the glass Johnny had brought back from the bar.

Johnny studied his own. "First, I need a slash."

Sid looked up. "Me too."

Rambo sniggered. "He's going to protect your virtue."

"Or attack it," Wobble added.

Johnny belched. "I haven't got any virtue."

"Don't tell Flares. He'll get ideas."

"We'll have to give him something else to think about." Johnny grabbed Sid's hand and hauled him towards the bogs. At the door he turned and grinned up at his friend. "Gizza kiss."

Sid obliged.

After a moment, they collapsed through the door and staggered into a cubicle, giggling madly.

"I'm gonna wet myself," Johnny gasped. "Shift out the way."

Still slumped with laughter, Sid rolled away from the toilet.

After a desperate moment of frantic fumbling - with a soundtrack provided by Sid's sniggering - Johnny let out a sigh of relief. "Shit, that's better."

"Why'd you kiss me out there?" Sid asked.

"Get Flares going. He's going to be shooting in here for a wank at the thought of it." He zipped up and stepped back and into Sid. "Shit, what you doing there?"

"It's a small place."

"Think they'd design 'em for two in a place like this." Johnny reached up and rearranged Sid's hair. "You need it cutting. I'll do it when we get in."

"Your roots need doing."

"Ah, shit. Still, at least you've got the dosh for the dye."

"Green again?"

"Nah. Bored of it. Orange." Johnny looked up at his friend and grinned. "Give us another kiss."

Sid did.

"Soppy beggar," Johnny said fondly. He nipped Sid's ear. "Better leave it till we get home, though. Rambo and Wobble'll be wondering where we are."

Sid trailed happily after Johnny.


End file.
